A Lady’s First Scandal

by Farmer, Merry

  Rupert was so alarmed by her outburst that he blurted, “Calm down,” before thinking better of it.

  “I will calm down when I’m ready to,” she fired back. “I will calm down when you understand how wretchedly you’ve treated me.”

  “I love you,” he nearly shouted in indignation. “I’ve never loved anyone else. I’ve never so much as kissed anyone since we met and fell in love.”

  “Are we in love?” she asked, her chin tilted up, crossing her arms.

  “Of course, we are,” he growled. He blew out a breath and shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why don’t you go to bed now,” he went on. “It’s been an eventful day for both of us, and I dare say we’re both exhausted. Everything will look better in the morning.”

  “Will it?” Her brow arched in frightening imitation of his mother when she had her nose out of joint.

  “I’m certain it will, dearest,” he said, trying his best to placate her.

  He stepped closer to her, opening his arms to hug her. She dodged out of the way, her arms still crossed, marching toward the door.

  As she reached the doorway, she turned back to him with the superiority of an empress and said, “I hate that moustache, you know. It doesn’t suit you.” She then swept out of the room as though she’d won the argument.

  Rupert would have run after her to make things right. Maybe. More likely, he would have stood where he was and shouted every one of the colorful obscenities he’d learned in the army. He didn’t have a chance to do either. Before he could move from his spot, Lord Malcolm stepped into the doorway Cece had just stormed through. His brow was knit in a scowl that made lesser men piss their trousers. Rupert’s insides turned to jelly at the fury in his would-be father-in-law’s eyes.

  “She’s right, you know,” Lord Malcolm said in a voice that reminded Rupert not only that Lord Malcolm had served in the army and seen action himself, but that he’d killed men when called on to do so. “That moustache makes you look like a cunt.”

  Without another word, Lord Malcolm walked on, leaving Rupert with the feeling he’d been thoroughly dismissed. He sagged, breathing out the frustration his conversation with Cece had left him with. And he’d thought the war had ended three years ago. Something told him it had only just begun.

  Chapter 3

  Cece had been beside herself with excitement about the ball to welcome the returning soldiers home before her disappointing reunion with Rupert, but by the time she climbed the steps to Spencer House, where the ball was being held, with the combined mass of her family and her mother’s friends, her heart was heavy and her enthusiasm dampened.

  “I know that things have been…difficult between us these last few days,” Rupert said in a quiet voice as he escorted her down the long hall toward the gaily decorated ballroom, “but tonight is supposed to be joyous, festive. What would it take for me to coax your beautiful smile back into existence?”

  Cece turned to him with a look of utter indignation. “Whether or not I smile is none of your concern,” she said through a clenched jaw. Her arm felt as brittle as glass tucked into his.

  Rupert sighed, deflating. “I’m sorry, Cece. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. You weren’t like this when I left for South Africa.”

  It took every ounce of her willpower not to launch into a tirade and to tell him that she wouldn’t have been the woman she was now if he had never joined the army in the first place. The last few days had taught her that no good was to be had from pointing out what he would never understand.

  They joined the queue of guests waiting to be announced as they entered the ballroom. Cece had half a mind to step back to her father’s side and to be announced with him instead of Rupert, but her father was busy whispering something—probably entirely inappropriate for the public sphere—into Lady Katya’s ear. She would have hung back to enter with Bianca and Natalia, but they were already waving to gentlemen they shouldn’t have been and making too-loud comments about who they hoped to dance with. Cece was stuck with Rupert.

  And it wasn’t as though she wanted to disassociate herself from him. She loved Rupert dearly, in spite of his boorish behavior since returning home. They’d had sweet moments in the past few days along with the rough ones, it was just that—

  “Oh, look. Reese is here,” he said mere moments after they had been announced and paid their respects to Lord and Lady Spencer. “It’s been years since I saw him. Looks like Freddy’s already talking his ear off.” He turned to glance past the cluster of their families to where Lord O’Shea brought up the rear of their pack. “Fergus, I have to introduce you to an old friend, Lord Maurice Howsden. You don’t mind, dearest, do you?” Rupert sought out her permission almost as an afterthought.

  In spite of the sour taste in Cece’s mouth over yet another abandonment, she sighed and said, “Go along.”

  “Thank you, my angel.” Rupert squeezed her hand before letting her go and ushering Lord O’Shea across the room to his friends.

  Several of the aristocratic guests cast suspicious looks at Lord O’Shea’s bright, ginger hair as they left, but the uneasiness that filled Cece’s stomach at their blatant show of prejudice was nothing to the hollow sensation of being on her own once more.

  “Don’t mind my brother,” Bianca said, sweeping up behind Cece, taking her arm, and carrying her a few yards to the side, where a group of young, available women had claimed a spot from which to survey the ballroom and show off their gowns. “He continues to be stuck in a regimental mindset. Given time, he’ll return to the ranks of the civilized.”

  “Are we civilized?” Natalia asked in a jovial voice as the three of them found a spot from which to view the increasingly active ballroom.

  “I should say not,” an unkind voice muttered behind them.

  It was followed by a chorus of titters, but when Cece glanced over her shoulder with a frown to rival any her father could produce, every one of the young ladies nearby wore placid, innocent faces. She shook her head and ignored the comment, turning to face forward.

  “I understand his loyalty to his friends,” she said, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from her kid gloves. “But I would have thought his loyalty to the woman he loves would count for something as well.”

  “Of course he loves you,” Bianca said, too loud once again. Cece winced at the implication she believed Rupert had fallen out of love during his time away. “Men in love are horribly obvious.”

  “And you would know?” the mean voice behind them asked.

  It was Bianca’s turn to glance over her shoulder with a sharp look. “As a matter of fact, Claudia Denbigh, I would. Which is more than you can say, you sour old cow.”

  Cece winced.

  Lady Claudia gasped in offense. “How dare you address me in such a manner?”

  Bianca turned to face her fully, crossing her arms. “Which part of my statement offends you more? The fact that I, the daughter of an earl and step-daughter of a marquess, would address you by your given name or the fact that, after three seasons, you have not had so much as a sniff from any gentleman of worth?”

  Cece would have groaned aloud if it wouldn’t have drawn even more attention to Bianca’s reckless lack of respect for all propriety. Then again, Bianca had long since torn up the rulebook of social etiquette and thrown the pieces into the fire of her own boldness.

  Lady Claudia’s back stiffened. “I would rather go without a beau than debase myself for a man born in the gutter who has barely risen to the depths of the middle class.”

  A victorious grin spread across Bianca’s lips. “That’s because you do not have the first clue what you’re missing.”

  Cece gulped and pressed a hand to her stomach. It was bad enough that most of London knew Bianca was particular friends with Mr. Jack Craig—who was merely a policeman in their eyes and who, it was rumored, had been born in a brothel—for Bianca to even imply that her association with Mr. Craig had resulted in anything less than absolute, virginal i
nnocence was tantamount to social suicide. As far as Cece knew, nothing untoward had actually happened between Bianca and Mr. Craig, but that hardly mattered.

  Particularly not when Lady Claudia raked Cece with a disapproving look and sniffed. “No wonder Lord Stanhope has cast you aside. You have the stench of scandal about you.”

  “Cece is the least scandalous person I know.” Natalia rushed to her defense. “She is far gooder than all of us.” She paused, tilting her head to the side. “Is gooder a word? Well, it should be a word.”

  “Ignorance and debauchery,” Lady Claudia said, her chin tilted up. The friends that flanked her sides imitated her posture. “I have no doubt that, by the time the season is finished, the finer part of society will not lower themselves to even look at you, let alone consider you part of their social circle.” She directed her remarks at Cece rather than Bianca, which came as a bitter surprise. “And as for Lord Stanhope….” A sly grin tugged at the corners of Lady Claudia’s mouth as she glanced across the room to where Rupert stood, chatting with his friends. “I’ve no doubt he will be on the marriage market again within weeks.”

  Cece had never hated anyone in her life, but the fire that burned in her gut at Lady Claudia’s comment was the closest she felt she could come. She suddenly understood the level of freedom Bianca must have felt in having no qualms about expressing her true feelings boldly. It was torture to try to maintain a blank expression in the face of such an insult.

  She was saved from any more humiliation by none other than Lady Tavistock approaching their tense group.

  “Ah, Lady Cecelia,” Lady Tavistock said, smiling directly at Cece and stopping by her side. “How lovely to see you this evening.”

  “Lady Tavistock.” Cece nodded formally to her, heat flooding her cheeks. The last thing she needed was for the confrontation and humiliation to be witnessed by someone she admired so much.

  But instead of making things worse, Lady Tavistock laughed gently and said, “You must call me Henrietta, since we are friends.” She glanced pointedly at Lady Claudia.

  Lady Claudia’s cheeks flooded with color and her jaw clenched tight. “I would not be so quick to associate yourself with someone so notorious,” she hissed.

  “Lady Cecelia is far from notorious,” Henrietta said in as pleasant a voice as if they were talking about the blooms in their garden.

  At that thought, Cece took notice of the white iris pinned to both Henrietta’s and Lady Claudia’s bodices. She sent a furtive look between the two women. She’d forgotten that Lady Claudia was a May Flower as well.

  The confrontation was stopped before it could escalate as Henrietta hooked her hand under Cece’s elbow and said, “My dear, you must come meet Mr. Langley. I’m sure he’d be terribly interested in your thoughts about Irish Home Rule.”

  Cece wasn’t sure if it was a real invitation or if there was such a man as Mr. Langley, but she was so grateful for the excuse to get away not just from Lady Claudia, but from Bianca and Natalia as well that she walked eagerly with Henrietta halfway across the ballroom before letting out a breath of relief.

  “Thank you so much for rescuing me, my lady,” she said once they were away, pressing a hand to her flaming cheek.

  “Henrietta,” Henrietta corrected her. “I was earnest in my wish for you to call me by a familiar name. And I’m earnest in my desire to introduce you to Mr. Langley. He is a rising star in the House of Commons, but I think he needs a bit of a push to come around to Gladstone’s views on the essential nature of Irish Home Rule. Ah, Mr. Langley.”

  They reached a group of older men who were already deep in discussion. Henrietta introduced Cece, then launched into her own views of the topic at hand. Cece held her own as best she could, but it was just her luck that the political discussion Henrietta had drawn her into was directly adjacent to Rupert and his friends. Remembering the finer points of the argument in favor of setting up an Irish Parliament and allowing it to govern the day-to-day aspects of Irish life was next to impossible with the focal point of all her emotions within earshot.

  Still, she tried her best to keep Rupert out of her thoughts.

  “I believe the issue is one of sovereignty,” she said in response to Mr. Langley’s question about why a nation that was so close in proximity to England would need their own parliament. “That and the fact that England has done such a poor job administrating Ireland. The Irish people have suffered so.”

  “They have indeed,” Henrietta agreed. “Not just in the famine of the eighteen-forties. The tragedies of the last decade could have been avoided if only the Irish had been able to govern and respond to their own crisis.”

  “Your compassion serves you well, Lady Tavistock,” Mr. Langley said with a smile. “It is a shame you cannot run for a seat in Parliament yourself.”

  “Believe me, sir, I have had the same thought on a number of occasions,” Henrietta said with a smile.

  “It’s a wonder you do not remarry, my lady,” Mr. Barr, one of the other gentlemen in the conversation, said. “You could have more influence with a like-minded husband.”

  “I could have a great many other things that I do not wish for as well,” Henrietta answered.

  Cece marveled at how smooth and witty the reply was, particularly as she considered the implied disapproval of Henrietta’s single state rude. And yet, she, too, wondered why someone so beautiful and clever, not to mention wealthy and influential, was content to remain a widow. Perhaps she didn’t need a husband. Perhaps she had a string of lovers, like Lady Katya had when she was widowed. The idea of a woman being free to take a lover captivated and excited Cece.

  “I would wager Lady Tavistock remains in her current state because she has yet to meet a man strong enough to tempt her out of it,” Rupert said, turning from his conversation to hers, as if he could hear her thoughts. “Fortunately, that is not true of all beautiful young ladies.” He smiled fondly at Cece.

  Cece’s nerves bristled. How could Rupert compliment her and make her feel so small at the same time?

  “The problem with the Irish governing themselves is that so few of them are capable,” Mr. Thomas, the third man in the original conversation steered the whole thing back the topic at hand. As much as she disagreed with the man’s stance, Cece was beyond grateful to him for drawing attention away from her.

  “It’s ridiculous to say the Irish are incompetent,” Rupert said, pulling focus back to himself. “Why, Lord O’Shea here would be a prime contender for Irish Prime Minister.” He shifted his stance enough to physically draw Lord O’Shea, Lord Howsden, and Lord Herrington into the conversation.

  Cece had nothing against Rupert’s friends in and of themselves, but she could have screamed at the way that, once again, Rupert had turned to them instead of remaining content with what he had. As a result, the men would inevitably take over the conversation, relegating the ladies to passive observers, in spite of their intelligence and grasp of the situation.

  “You think you’re up to the task of governance?” Mr. Thomas said, raking Lord O’Shea with a narrow-eyed glance.

  “I wouldn’t presume,” Lord O’Shea said, looking as though he wanted to back out of the confrontation.

  The orchestra struck the opening notes of a waltz. Cece thanked God for the opportunity to end what was swiftly turning into an embarrassing confrontation. She turned to Rupert, resting a hand on his arm, and whispered, “I would like to dance.”

  Rupert patted her hand, but remained focused on Mr. Thomas. “In a moment. Are you saying, sir, that my friend, who has served in Her Majesty’s Army for the past six years, and served with distinction, I might add, and who has obtained the rank of Lieutenant, would be unable to handle the reins of government?”

  “Rupert,” Cece whispered sharply.

  “He may be able to,” Mr. Thomas said. “But it is a well-known fact that the Irish are inferior in almost every way.”

  Dread dropped into Cece’s stomach like a brick thrown in a murky pond.
She drew her hand away from Rupert as he tensed, ready for battle.

  She was ready to turn and beat a speedy retreat to avoid what was sure to turn into a bloodbath when Lord Howsden leaned close to her and asked in a calm voice, “Would you care to dance, Lady Cecelia?”

  It wasn’t the rescue she’d hoped for, but Cece wasn’t about to turn down the offer. “Yes, please, Lord Howsden.”

  She didn’t know whether she wanted to sigh in relief or sob as Lord Howsden took her arm, led her out to the center of the dance floor, then took her into his arms for the waltz. She barely knew the man, but at that moment, he was her hero.

  They danced in silence for a minute or so. Only when Cece began to notice the pointed stares and clusters of old women whispering behind their hands as they watched did she begin to feel nervous.

  “Forgive me,” Lord Howsden said. “I didn’t mean to cause comment by dancing with you. It’s just that I haven’t asked any woman to dance in more than five years.”

  “Oh,” Cece said, blinking and feeling even more self-conscious. “I should thank you even more then.”

  “I could see your distress at the conversation and, as a gentleman, I had to act,” he went on.

  “And I suppose it doesn’t help the gossip that I have rarely danced myself in Rupert’s absence,” she said.

  Lord Howsden smiled. “Good heavens. What have we done?”

  It dawned on Cece that she liked Lord Howsden, in spite of him being one of Rupert’s friends and thus the cause of his neglect. All she knew about the man was that he had been married for long enough to produce an heir before his wife died of a fever, that he was a moderate voice in the House of Lords, and that his brother had scandalized everyone by marrying an American woman and moving to Wyoming Territory. He was as handsome as any man, with refined features, broad shoulders, and an air of intelligence about him. Everything about him was as far from the aggressive, military mien Rupert and the other returning soldiers had. And he danced like a dream.